


Picking up this heat

by grapehyasynth



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Diverges just before the soft launch, Kissing, M/M, Ogling, POV David Rose, Sauna
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:14:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28561134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grapehyasynth/pseuds/grapehyasynth
Summary: It's not a hammam spa, but Stevie's had a sauna installed at the motel, and David's going to use it before it opens to the public. Except there's already someone there, and it's his business partner.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 72
Kudos: 275





	Picking up this heat

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this instead of writing the things I meant to write, as usual.  
> Title from "Steam" by Peter Gabriel. Have literally never heard the song, just googled "songs with steam" lololololol #art #research
> 
> Most of what I know about saunas I googled this evening.   
> Did not edit this, not even once. We die like fools

David is speedwalking down the length of the motel within seconds of getting Stevie’s text. Okay, within thirty minutes, because even with months of anticipation he still needs to pack a bag and shower and debate which of his speedos is most flattering. But _then_ he’s hurrying to the sauna that the motel has recently, incomprehensibly, attached to its far end. 

He’s not sure why Stevie had decided _this_ was the appropriate next reno for the motel, when there are, like, a million more pressing health and safety concerns already _inside_ _the rooms_ , though he may have submitted an anonymous request or twenty for some luxury modifications, and maybe she decided it was cheaper to build the damn thing than to kill him. 

Regardless, as a semi-permanent guest at the motel, he can use the sauna for free, whenever he wants. The sauna doesn’t officially open to the public until Sunday, which gives him _three full days_ of private use. After that he’ll probably have to contend with Roland’s hairy thighs and whoever the fuck Gwen is, but for now - _three full days_. Okay, three partial days, because the store opens tomorrow and then he’ll have to get up early and stay late. _Still_. He’s not sure he’s felt this revitalized in the last two years, and he hasn’t even gotten his sweat on yet! 

He swings the door open with what would be an embarrassing jauntiness if he had an audience, which - 

He does, apparently. 

“Oh,” says Patrick’s voice from the other side of the waft of steam that assails David. 

David coughs and chokes and waves the steam aside in time to see Patrick pull a towel over his lap. The towel doesn’t cover much, though, nor does the steam. Where David has been anticipating a cute fifteen-to-thirty-minute soak, instead he’s faced with a cute thirty-to-thirty-five-year-old business partner. 

“Um, hi,” David says, stepping into the room and letting the door swing shut, because it’s rude to let someone else’s steam out, and also the sunlight is literally _glistening_ on the sweat on Patrick’s calves and chest and stomach and that’s - David can’t be expected to have a conversation. “I didn’t realize anyone - I thought it was- Sorry, I can go.” 

“No, no, I should go,” Patrick frowns, slipping his feet into plastic shoes that scream _locker room fungus_. “I was just testing it out for Stevie, I don’t have to-” 

David makes a mental note to crucify Stevie for what is, apparently, a bit of a set-up. “Looks like it works. I mean, it’s not a hammam spa, but - I thought it would help me relax ahead of the opening tomorrow. The - the soft opening,” he clarifies, as if Patrick has forgotten their conversation from earlier, when David inadvertently made their event planning conversation phallic. Though now he’s brought both their minds back to that topic, and he can’t say for certain that his gaze doesn’t drop to Patrick’s little green towel. Is he naked under there? The towel rides up so high on his bare thighs that he’s definitely not wearing boxers or boxer briefs, but more than that - _jesus fuck,_ he thinks frantically, snapping his eyes back up to Patrick’s face, which is pink with, David can only hope, the heat of the room. 

“Um, we can-” Patrick clears his throat and tries again. “We can both be in here, right? It’s - we’re adults.” 

“We are!” David hastens to agree. “And I’ve been in more awkward saunas than this, believe me.” 

Patrick’s face widens with a smile that says he wants to ask a follow up question, but he spares them both. “Great. That’s - if you’re okay with it, I’m okay with it.” 

“Great,” David echoes. 

He stands there awkwardly another moment, then begins laying his things out on one of the benches along the side. At least they won’t have to look directly at each other the whole time. And thank god he didn’t bring his handmade Finnish birch whisks; he would rather burn his store down than beat himself in front of Patrick. Beat himself with the whisks, not - not beat himself like - god, he needs to stop thinking about dicks. 

He carefully folds a towel across the bench to catch his sweat, then peels off his shirt and tucks it into his bag, which he stows under the bench. Maybe if he goes slowly enough, Patrick will decide he’s all sweated out before David has to take off his swim trunks. 

He rubs the Andalusian amplifying cream he hasn’t had occasion to use in years into his arms and legs and neck, his skin already burning. He hopes Patrick isn’t looking. What else could he be looking at?! It’s not like he has a book or a phone in here. 

“What’s that for? I thought you weren’t supposed to use lotions before getting into a sauna.” 

Definitely looking, then. 

“Um, this,” David says, twisting to glance at Patrick, who doesn’t look the least ashamed, who, if anything, was definitely letting his gaze linger on David’s ankles, “will help me sweat more.” 

Patrick’s lips twitch. 

“Before you say anything, it’s scientifically proven. I think.” He glances town at the tube. “That might’ve been the under eye serum from Rajasthan.” 

Finished with the cream, he sets it aside and picks up another little vial. 

“This,” he directs at Patrick, who, yep, had definitely gone back to looking at non-face parts of David, “will make the room smell nice. I would bet what little I have left in the world that Stevie got, like, the cheapest materials possible, and I don’t want to smell the burning plastic or whatever.” 

Patrick hums appreciatively and watches as David flicks a few drops of the lemongrass essential oil over the (surprisingly tasteful) steam rocks in the middle of the room. He glances over to see Patrick’s eyes close, nose lifted as the scent begins to permeate the room, and David selfishly takes the moment to let himself look. 

But now he’s done with his rituals, and all that’s left is to start. Well, that and basically exposing himself in front of his business partner.

Hoping it doesn’t look too much like a strip tease but also well aware of the libidinal effect he tends to have on people, David carefully eases down his swim trunks and sits as quickly as he can, drawing his second towel over his tasteful black speedo, which now feels absolutely teeny-tiny. 

He dares a glance at Patrick, and oh god, Patrick meets his gaze and shrugs a little, and then he moves his hand, moves the towel, and David’s stomach fully drops out of his body for a breath before he realizes Patrick’s also wearing a bathing suit, a dark blue number that stretches to accentuate his thick thighs and leaves just the right amount to the imagination. Fortunately, David has a very active and accomplished imagination. 

It’s not until David recognizes that Patrick’s happy trail has started to get a little curly in the steam and heat that he realizes he’s staring again, and he looks away quickly. This is fine, right? Patrick has told him he has a sloppy mouth; they can, like, flirt and appreciate each other, surely? 

He stares at the far wall, fighting a smile. He should be mortified, he should be ready to sink into the floor, he should be fleeing, or at the very least he should be putting on a show, spreading himself out along the bench and arching his back and brushing the sweat from his forehead, but instead he’s - he’s sitting here, trying to preserve a little bit of decency for them both, and he’s trying not to grin at a wall as his mostly-naked, probably-not-totally-straight business partner does the same. Except without the decency part, because Patrick’s spandex-covered dick is basically fully out there. 

David fumbles beside himself on the bench for his sunglasses, which he’d brought so that he could fall asleep but which will provide amazing ogling coverage. His fingers touch the tube of amplifying cream and the vial of essential oil and then just air - surely he brought his glasses? 

He’s just about to look when his fingers slip across the surface of the bench and one of them sears with a sharp pain. 

“Oh! Fuck!” he yelps, withdrawing his hand, looking around desperately for the scorpion or tarantula or killer hornet that has stung him. “What the fuck!” 

“What is it?” Patrick asks urgently. “Are you okay?” 

David scowls down at his finger, which has gone all red with the intrusion of what he recognizes from his chest-making days with Mutt as a splinter. “Who the fuck made this place and didn’t even finish it properly?” He thinks of how busy Stevie has seemed with this project. “It was probably fucking Jake...” 

“Who’s Jake?” 

“Oh, we don’t have time for that,” David chuckles darkly. “Fuck, this hurts like all fucking hell!” 

He registers the swish of cheap plastic shoes on the concrete floor only a second before Patrick’s there, standing in front of him, standing _over_ him in nothing but his little bathing suit, his crotch so close to David’s head that he almost forgets about the pain for a moment. “Here,” Patrick says, and he takes David’s hand, and David stands, because he needs to not just be staring up at Patrick - wet, solid - but then they’re almost chest-to-chest and Patrick’s _taking David’s goddamn finger into his mouth_. 

Patrick only seems to realize what he’s done when he’s already up to the second knuckle, his lips pursed around David’s finger where his rings normally sit. Patrick’s eyes widen and the blush on his cheeks darkens beyond what can be blamed on the heat, but he still gives a little tentative suck, and the (very small) part of David not currently turned on out of his everloving mind feels a surprising relief. 

Patrick does it a few times more, and then he pulls off with an indecent pop, but he doesn’t release David’s hand. “Sorry,” he murmurs, shrugging, smiling abashedly. “I was taught that’s how to get a splinter out. That - that wasn’t very businesslike.” 

A laugh bursts from David, a delighted, embarrassed, intrigued thing. “No,” he chuckles, “but it would have been _very_ unbusinesslike if the splinter had been in my ass.” 

He’d meant it as a joke, to defuse the tension or put Patrick at ease or in some other way keep himself from mauling Patrick, but he feels the temperature in the room change, which shouldn’t be possible at this point and is maybe mostly in his head - regardless, Patrick’s still holding his hand so he feels his grip tighten and he glances up and Patrick’s looking at him like he _wants_ David to maul him, like he _wishes_ the splinter had been in David’s ass. 

They collide without coordination, meeting in the middle, kissing frantically, and it’s the hottest thing David’s ever experienced - and he should _know,_ he hooked up with a Hemsworth cousin and Emma Watson’s brother at a hot yoga retreat in Malta. This is so much hotter. He’s covered in sweat and Patrick’s hands keep slipping as they kiss, fighting for purchase, and each time his hands slip away and come back it’s a reassurance that Patrick wants this too, if his thrusting tongue and little frustrated groans weren’t indication enough. 

There’s also the factor that there are only two layers of very thin fabric between their cocks - that helps. That’s - that’s pretty hot. 

When they finally part, Patrick blinks at him, wide-eyed, then laughs and drops his forehead to David’s sternum. “Well, that wasn’t very businesslike either.” 

David swallows. “Is that - is that okay?” 

Patrick looks up quickly, with an incredulous smile to match the feeling in David’s chest.”Yes. Very okay. I mean, I didn’t picture our first kiss like _this_ -” He sweeps a hand out to take in the sauna, their nakedness, and probably his fugly shoes, because no, David wouldn’t picture those either and is trying very hard to forget they’re there. 

David presses his lips together to keep from blurting out his next thought, but it still comes out too eagerly by half as he asks, “You’ve pictured our first kiss?” 

He expects Patrick to duck his head again, but he just looks up at him with those huge brown eyes. “Didn’t you?” 

And, well. David loves when Patrick calls him on his bullshit. 

But he doesn’t need to incriminate himself. So he kisses Patrick again instead of answering. 

Patrick plays with the moist hairs at the nape of David’s neck, eyes tracking the freckles on David’s exposed shoulders. “I’m sorry I ruined your pre-soft-opening relaxation.” 

“Oh my god, no, if you hadn’t been here, I probably wouldn’t contracted tetanus and diphtheria and died before I could make it to the vet clinic. Besides,” he says, and he shimmies a little in Patrick’s hold, all kinds of interesting parts of their bodies brushing, “I can think of other ways for you to relax me-” 

This time Patrick does duck his head, and he reluctantly separates their hips and takes a step back, which David hates immediately; has the sauna been this cold the whole time? “I’m sorry, David, but I think you should that I - that I haven’t - I’ve never done that before, with a guy.” 

“O-oh.” 

“Yeah. So I’m - I’m going to need to go a bit slower. Not that I don’t want - not that I wouldn’t-” His gaze trails tellingly down David’s body, and David doesn’t want to hide from it, which is - that’s new. “You’re so-” Patrick growls, and then he’s pressing in again, kissing David so hard they both stumble back against the edge of the bench. When he steps back again, his chest is heaving but he looks so, so pleased, more pleased even than when he’d showed David his inventory spreadsheet. 

“Um,” David says, because that’s about all that’s in his brain right now. “Is it too fast to say that I’m definitely going to go masturbate in the shower after you leave?” 

Patrick laughs. “No, that’s the perfect speed.” They kiss again, and just as Patrick seems to be getting into it again, just as David’s thinking he should pull back, Patrick slips his mouth to the side, ghosting over David’s cheek so he can whisper in his ear, “Text me how it goes?” 

David gasps, delighted and scandalized and turned on beyond measure. Something squeezes in his chest at the way Patrick seems to be glowing, and he has to blink rapidly against - against the steam, really, not at all against the feeling. “Okay, I will, but I think we have been in here longer than is recommended and we both definitely need to rehydrate.” 

Bundled back into sticky shirts and clinging trunks, they kiss again outside the sauna. David doesn’t even glance both ways to see if anyone’s malingering in the dusk to spy on them; he doesn’t care. 

“Do you want to get breakfast tomorrow? Brunch,” Patrick amends quickly, at the look on David’s face. “So we can...talk through things, talk about _this_ , before we start setting up for the launch. We could get brunch to go and eat in the park, so it’s a little more private?” 

David’s face is far beyond his control now, taken over by joy. “I like that idea. A picnic.” 

“It’s a date.”

Patrick kisses him softly, and David wonders if it’s too much too fast to text him a reminder to exfoliate and moisturize and use some lip balm after he showers tonight; he can’t imagine Patrick’s had much sauna experience, though if he has and if there were other rugged athletes involved David _may_ need to circle back. He blinks, and Patrick’s just grinning at him like he knows, if not _exactly_ what David’s thinking, at least the general neighborhood. 

“And David,” Patrick says, and the hand that’s resting on David’s lower back slips suddenly between his skin and his clothes, snapping the band of the speedo a little, “put on some clothes for brunch, would you? I think the cafe has a no shirt no shoes no service policy.” 

David just barely bites back a parting retort about preferring no shoes to the monstrosities Patrick’s currently wearing, but even _he_ has the social filter to recognize now’s not the time. 


End file.
